Blindspot
by hazelmom
Summary: Marshall risks everything, and only Mary can help.
1. Chapter 1

It happened only about every 6 months, but it was always same dream

It happened only about every 6 months, but it was always same dream. He would miss an angle; a blindspot in his trajectory. The most important thing in the world, but he would miss it, and the shot would come from that missed spot; some dark corner of a room. It always hit her full in the chest and she would slam into a wall. He could hear the noise as plain as day. There were times when he would hear a bang walking down the street, and he would have to hold his breath until his heart started beating again.

He was usually sitting upright in his bed trying to slow his breathing by the time she got shot in the dream. But sometimes there was little more. Sometimes, he would sit next to her and watch her die or he would suddenly be at her funeral watching them lower her casket. There was only one constant. Every time he had this nightmare, he would feel deep in his bones this wrenching sense of regret that he'd missed the one blindspot; she died because he didn't do his job.

………………………………………………………

He liked the Onion, newspaper satire at its best. The one he had literally howled at once was an article about juvenile delinquents, and there was a picture of a wolf next to the article, and the caption says, "We're tired of raising your children." He sometimes would chuckle when he thought about that because the other picture he could imagine beside the wolf was a picture of Mary. She would be wearing one of those expressions with one eyebrow raised; the kind of look she had that made a guy check to make sure his wallet was still in his back pocket. Yes, Mary had definitely been raised by wolves.

A grin started as he thought about it.

"What!"

He blinked, startled by her ferocity. He scratched his head. "Ah, nothing."

"You were staring at me with the weirdest look." She narrowed her eyes at him.

Marshall leaned back in his chair, trying to stay cool. "I was most definitely not giving you a weird look."

"Then what were you smiling at, Dork?"

He shrugged. "I was just thinking of wolves."

"Wolves!"

"Did you know that the northern Timberwolf only mates—"

"No! I don't know, and I don't want to know. Please keep your geek-formation to yourself."

"At your command, my sweet little kumquat."

She wrinkled her nose at him. "You must have been the biggest dork in high school."

"Hitting below the belt this early in the morning? Doesn't seem like your style." He winked at her and returned to his computer screen. He was Mr. Cool; Marshall Mann, 5th generation U.S. Marshall, first in his class at the academy, best sharpshooter the feds had in five states including Texas and a service record that was as shiny as a new pair of shoes. He would be as cool today as he was every day; the only difference being the extra two cups of joe he would drink to make up for the fact that he had been up since 3 a.m., soaked in sweat and terrified, because he had another nightmare where his mistake got her killed.

He watched her stride away from him, blonde hair swinging across her shoulders. She was strong as a draft horse and yet oddly delicate. Most days, she didn't possess the tact for the most simple of interactions, and yet he'd seen her rock a witness crying in her arms like a new mother. The contradictions were myriad and complex, and they gave him headaches on his best days. She ambled into Stan's office and he could hear nasal whine in her voice as she rained abuse on their boss for any number of issues he had failed to right for her. Five minutes later, she would probably be sitting across from Stan, her boots up on his desk while they talked baseball. It was maddening. Marshall rubbed his tired eyes and reached for his coffee.

……………………………………………………………………

"You've changed since you got shot."

Marshall looked up from his paperwork, puzzled. "What does that mean?"

"You're weirder."

He sighed. "I don't think so."

Mary shook her head. "There's no denying it. You're different."

"Well, I can't do any long distance running for another year. Doc says the lung tissue needs time to regenerate. That is the only change I can report."

"That's not it. You're quiet, more thoughtful…weirder."

Marshall made a face at her. "I'm quiet because I'm working. I am completing the duties of my employment unlike others in this office."

She narrowed her eyes. "You're just different."

"Maybe you're different."

She scowled. "I don't think so."

"You used to let me do my work. Now, you bug me with…all this."

"You don't need to get all prissy about it."

"Mary! Leave me alone!"

She raised an eyebrow. "This is exactly what I was talking about."

Marshall slumped in his chair and closed his eyes. "You're right. I've changed. I'm weirder. The bullet brought out all the weird in me. It must have pierced the center of my weird. Sorry."

"Exactly."

……………………………………………………………

Marshall liked to learn. It was fun. It was relaxing. As he was sitting at Bonita's diner, he was thinking about learning and chilaquiles. Learning to make chilaquiles would be a worthy learning experience. He started to lay out his learning plan of attack. He could take a class or he could go online and read about it or he could ask the lovely Consuela behind the counter if she wanted to give him a chilaquiles lesson. It was clear he was leaning toward education that would involve the voluptuous Consuela and chilaquiles. He had to figure out how to phrase it so that it didn't sound like chilaquiles was a euphemism for something a gentleman should never say.

He pondered the possibilities in his head. "Would you like to make chilaquiles with me?" He shook his head. "Could you show me your chilaquiles--definitely not. I think you and I would make great chilaquiles together." He groaned at this last line, and Consuela looked up from the register. He grinned sheepishly. Before he could proceed with this rather dubious plan, a man slid onto the seat next to me.

"Damn it, Marshall. Do you know how hard it is to find you?"

Marshall furrowed his brow at the man.

"Christ, has it been that long? It's me. Bart Preston. Come on! John Connolly High School. I used to give you wedgies."

Marshall winced. "Ah, Bart Preston: John Connolly's own junkyard dog. How you been? And better yet; why are you here…talking to me?"

Preston shook hands vigorously with him. "I need a favor."

"Geez, Bart, high school was a long time ago and I don't exactly remember us being friends."

"I know. I was a shit to you. I'm sorry, but I'm a homicide detective now in Dallas. No more wedgies now. I catch bad guys."

"Too bad you weren't around when you were a kid…or something."

"Come on, Marshall. This is serious. I'm in big trouble."

Marshall gave him a sleepy look. "I have to admit that I am more than a little curious about what would bring you here from Dallas to seek out your former punching bag."

"Remember Mark Pipher. He was a grade ahead of us. U. S. Marshall. Dallas office. He mentioned you were down here doing WitSec."

"And?"

Preston hesitated for a moment as if he couldn't corral all of the details in his head. "All right, Marshall. Do you remember that movie, Witness with Harrison Ford?"

"Yes. Directed by Peter Weir, co-starring Kelly McGillis, Lukas Haas, and Joesf Sommers."

Preston stared at him. "Whatever. The thing is that I am Harrison Ford, and I need your help. You're like the Quakers."

"Amish, Bart. They were Amish."

"Right. You're the friggin' Amish, Marshall."

Marshall frowned. "I really don't understand this, and I know that I am not going to be the Amish for you, no matter what you've gotten yourself into."

"It's like the movie, don't you see?" Preston was on his feet. "I swear on my granddaddy's grave that this is very very friggin' real."

Marshall put a hand up. "All right, Bart. Slow down. Take a seat." He nodded at Consuela. "Could you rustle up some of your wonderful chilaquiles for my friend here?"

Bart slumped onto the stool. "I got her out in the car."

"Who?"

"The friggin' witness! You know, like the little Quaker boy."

Marshall rubbed at his tired eyes and looked for Consuela. "Consuela, we're going to repair to one of your booths now. And we're going to need a pot of your blackest brew."

Marshall grabbed him by the arm and pulled him over to the booth. "All right. From the top and no more movie references. No Amish. No Quakers. Got it?!"

……………………………………………………………..

2 a.m. and Marshall Mann was wondering if a person could really fall asleep in the middle of a conversation because he was almost there. It had taken awhile but Bart had finally brought in his witness, a young Latina woman equipped with knockers the size of ripe grapefruit. There were few circumstances where a young girl with a good body would get plastic melons at this age, and it didn't take long before she admitted to being an exotic dancer.

"Bart, you've got to be kidding me."

"I'm as serious as a heart attack. We've got three girls dead and now a witness. This girl is the only one able to make a positive ID for the grand jury."

"There are channels for this. I don't freelance."

Bart looked at the girl who sat between them with a rather bored expression on her face. "It's in the department, Marshall. It's a Captain. Captain Briggs. He runs the 3rd precinct. We know it but we don't got the juice yet. My partner and I went to Internal Affairs, but they wouldn't bite. Said I had an ax to grind. I used to work for this Captain and we didn't get on. Our Captain won't touch it 'cause he's a friggin' wuss. We went to the Feds. They won't even talk to her until we have an indictment."

"So stash her until she testifies."

Bart threw up his hands. "Which is why we are here."

Marshall narrowed his blurry eyes. "Stick her in hotel in a suburb with good cable and room service. Don't tell anyone. Then pick her up in two weeks and drive her to the courthouse."

"They're looking for her. You think someone isn't going to notice a guest who checks in and then doesn't leave the room for two weeks. We lost our other witness a week ago. Shot right in the chest in the hotel room we stashed her in. They want Rosita here under wraps, but we can't trust the friggin' chain of command. Come on, Marshall. This is a slam dunk for you. You must got access to safehouses. Just stick her on your friggin' route. There's no cell phone trail. Nothing. I get in my car. Drive straight back to Dallas and report that she isn't hiding out at her Auntie's in Amarillo. In two weeks, put her on a plane and pat yourself on the back."

"Right. What about the material witness warrant you've failed to mention 'cause I know she probably has one. That would look great on my record; hiding a material witness from Dallas PD for two weeks. I'll be applying for jobs at Blockbuster after that one."

Bart reached down and pulled a manila folder out of his bag. He flipped it open to a woman sprawled on a hotel bed, a red stain covering her chest. She was young and blonde, a look of infinite surprise on her face. He fanned the photos and it was the same scene from different angles. Marshall felt bile rise up in his throat, and he had to remind himself that it wasn't Mary.

"Take a good look at her, Marshall. She was a dancer, and she dated Briggs a few years ago. Not publicly of course, Man's got a wife and kids. After they broke up, she quit the life, went back to school for social work, and was working weekends at a homeless shelter. We found her and she told us stories about Briggs' proclivities. Said she was scared for her life. She was sure he was going to kill her. That's why she left her job. She was willing to talk about how he liked to use his gun during sex. She talked about how he threatened to kill her over and over. We told our Captain, stuck her in a hotel, and three days later, we found her like this. We can't trust anybody, Internal Affairs, the Feds, not even our own Captain…that is, except you."

Marshall let out air and stood up. "I need a minute."

"She was a good kid, Marshall. She turned her life around. She didn't deserve this."

Marshall didn't respond to Bart. He walked out the café and began pacing the sidewalk out front.


	2. Chapter 2

Mary came in to a quiet office

Hi! This is Sheila. I should be studying…but I am not. Enjoy.

Chapter 2

Mary came in to a quiet office. She was never the first one in. Stan was late on Wednesdays because he had a bureau chief's meeting, but Marshall was always there with a coffee for himself and one for her. She heard a groan, and reached for her piece. Slowly, she rounded her desk and walked over to Marshall's. A leg stuck out and her heart skipped a beat. It was only when she got the full view that she relaxed. Using a t-shirt as a pillow, he was curled up on the floor snoring softly.

Mary cocked her head. Marshall was a creature of habit, and sleeping on the office floor was not one of them. Marshall was definitely off these days. Unfortunately, she was starting to realize that she was off as well. Marshall was right. She was the one who had changed. Marshall with a bullet in his chest, blood pouring from his lung, had changed her forever. He'd been so calm, so soothing with her that it almost seemed as if she was the one dying, but she hadn't been. He'd almost died. Every time he closed his eyes in that abandoned diner, she thought he was gone. Losing Marshall had not been something she'd ever considered. Mary wasn't much of a long-term thinker, and in her mind, Marshall was a constant much like the sun rising every morning. The experience had left something odd growing in her gut, and she didn't like it. It felt like a complication, and Mary didn't like complications.

She noticed that his computer was left on which was another non-Marshall thing to do. She leaned over slowly and opened his screen. A list of articles from the Dallas Morning News came up. She squinted at the titles a moment, noted the search keywords and then gently closed his screen again. By the time he felt her presence, she was already seated at her computer.

He rubbed at his face and slowly pulled himself to his feet. His hair stood out at angles. Mary smiled at him despite herself and he winced back at her.

"Hey Sleepy. If I would've known you were spending the night here, I would've picked up the coffee."

He cleared his throat and tucked in his rumpled shirt. "I, uh…hell, I just got sleepy. It happens."

She shrugged. "I'm not saying anything." He couldn't her computer screen where she was busy reading about the recent killing of an exotic dancer in Dallas; the article suggesting that the murder was linked to two previous killings in the last five years.

He furrowed his brow. "Yeah. Why is that?"

"I've been hard on you lately."

He looked at her warily. "Yeah."

She smiled and returned to her reading. A few minutes later, her head cocked in his direction. "You really think I've changed…you know, since you got shot?"

He'd discovered his hair situation in the reflection on the computer screen, and was busy trying to paste it to his head. Her question gave him pause and he looked down at his keyboard for a moment. "It…was sobering, Mary. Scary. I didn't feel in control. Did you?"

She shook her head.

"It has impact."

"I don't like it."

He nodded. "Me neither."

"We're partners, Marshall. Don't forget that. If you need anything, I'm there. Good partners don't hide things from one another, Okay?"

Marshall sighed deeply and nodded.

…………………………………………

His condo was dark, but the air conditioner was pumped high and the TV blared. He nodded at her and then set to unpacking groceries on the counter. She was under a quilt watching scantily clad women compete in some sort of reality show.

He walked over. "Do you want me to turn down the air conditioning?

"I like it like this."

He thought about her cocooning in the quilt, but only nodded and went back to stocking the refrigerator. A couple of minutes later, he heard her bare feet shuffle into the kitchen. He looked up and saw her still encased in his mother's handmade quilt, dragging it along behind her. She climbed onto a kitchen stool and looked at him. "Did you buy any frozen pizzas?"

"Nope. Do you want me to grill some chicken for you?"

She curled her lip and shook her head.

"How old are you, Rosita?"

"I'm going to be 19 in the fall."

"How long have you been dancing?"

"Since I was 16."

Marshall shook his head slowly. "That isn't any kind of life for a girl."

She looked away, the color rising in her cheeks. "I ain't been a girl for a long time."

He nodded. "I bet."

"Thought you were going to put me up in a nice hotel."

"Contrary to popular belief, I don't have a string of safe houses available for my personal use."

"You're going to expect services, I suppose."

He froze, a box of cereal suspended in the hand. Then he shook his head slowly. "No, Rosita, I don't expect services."

"Don't get me wrong, I appreciate what you're doing—"

Marshall put the cereal down and turned to her. "There will be no services. Nothing. Do you understand?"

"You like boys?"

"No, Rosita. I do not have sex with girls or boys."

"I told you I was going to be 19—"

He put a hand up. "No. It's not going to happen. I don't consider sex a service, an activity or an aerobic exercise."

"But—"

"Rosita, what you have gone through, what men have done to you: it's not normal, it's not right and it's not okay."

"I don't have any other way to pay you."

He shook his head. "Don't worry about it. I'll think of something…else."

………………………………………………

An hour later, she was pushing the last of her grilled chicken and salad around on her plate with a fork. He was slumped in an easy chair across the living room from her, his face buried against the arm rest, snoring. She looked at him for a while like one would observe a rare tropical bird. Then she got up, pulling the quilt behind her. She walked up to him slowly, and then carefully draped the quilt on top of him. Then she backed away softly.

………………………………………………..

Mary had had enough of an unpredictable Marshall. 7 a.m. she was out front of his condo, pounding on the door. They'd get coffee. Maybe, he'd loosen up a little; tell her a little of what was going on. All of a sudden, a female face peered at her from a living room window. Mary stepped back, startled. The face disappeared. Mary frowned and started pounding harder.

Rosita walked into the bathroom. "A blonde gringita is at the door. I think she's going to kick the door in."

His head popped out from around the shower curtain, eyes wide. "Don't answer the door! And get out of my shower!"

She rolled her eyes. "You ain't got nothing I haven't seen."

"Out!"

Five minutes later, he burst out of the bathroom, shirt untucked; wet hair falling into his face. "Tell me you didn't go near the door."

She was perched on the couch. "She stopped knocking a couple of minutes ago."

Marshall put his eye up to the peephole. "She's out there waiting for me. Thank God, she didn't see you."

"Oh, she saw me. I looked at her from the window."

Marshall squeezed his eyes shut, banging his head repeatedly against the door.

"Can you bring back some frozen pizzas this time?"

Eyes still shut, Marshall nodded slightly, took a deep breath, and walked outside.

………………………………………………

The first five minutes was pure silence until she looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "She seems a little young."

Marshall threw his head back against the headrest. "It's not what you think."

"Really? Is this is one of your changes?" He could see her smirk despite the fact that her eyes stayed focused on the road.

"I really don't want to talk about it."

She pulled into a parking lot and stopped the car. "I thought we were friends."

He nodded slowly. "This is my thing, Mary. You gotta' let me take care of this."

"I don't like it."

"I know. Mary, but I don't know all your secrets. That has to be okay between us. You got Rafe. I don't ask about that. That's your thing. This is mine."

"Oh Please, Marshall, this is not your thing, and she's not your girlfriend. Tell me about what happened in Dallas."

Marshall closed his eyes. "I can't believe you went through...you'll just have to trust me."

She leaned over and touched his arm. "I can help."

He shook his head and drawled softly into her face. "No, Mary, you're not getting involved. Do you hear me? This is my thing."

She narrowed her eyes at him for a moment, then jammed the gear into reverse, and gunned the car out of the lot. Marshall held on for dear life.

……………………………………………

Marshall looked down at his dinner. There were three pieces of Tombstone pepperoni drowned in Velveeta, ranch dressing, and a generous sprinkling of Tabasco sauce.

She looked up. "How do you like it? It's my best recipe."

He smiled weakly at her. "Sorry. I had a big lunch. I…think I'll have a banana."

She rolled her eyes.

Marshall sat back down once he disposed of his plate. "Rosita, after this is all over, what do you plan on doing with your life?"

She smirked. "With these measurements, take a guess Marshall."

"There are other ways."

She leaned forward. "I make 1500 a week. I send 4000 home to my mother every month. I am supporting 37 people back in Juarez. They're building a house for me. What other way is there for me?"

He dropped his face into his hands. "That's a hard one."

She shrugged. "It's not so bad. I did the math. I can retire when I'm 30. I'll go home, get a good satellite dish, and sit in my new house all day."

"What if the measurements weren't so good? What if there weren't 37 people back in Juarez?"

She smiled. "That would be nice."

"What would it look like, Rosita?"

She leaned back and thought for a moment. "I would go to school. I love numbers. I can do every Sudoku, even the hardest, and I do the Rubik's cube in five minutes, tops. I would be a math genius."

"Did you finish high school?"

"You're kidding, right?"

"You should think about—"

She shook her head hard. "Not an option, Marshall. Don't even think it. These curves feed 37 people."

…………………………………………

Marshall woke to the sounds of voices in his kitchen. It took a moment for his sleepy brain to realize it wasn't the television. He reached for the gun on his nightstand. Crouching, he made his way along the wall to his door. Closing his eyes, he counted to three before kicking the door open. "Marshal Marshall Mann, US Marshal! Let me see your hands!"

Rosita threw her hands into the air, her eyes wide. Mary Shannon just took another sip of her coffee, one eyebrow raised. "You're really something with that Marshal Marshall Marshal business. You sound like you're stuttering."

Marshall groaned and dropped his gun. For a moment, it looked like he was going to blow, but he just shook his head and disappeared into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

Mary looked at Rosita. "You want another donut?"

"Do you have any more custard-filled?"

Mary smiled and pulled a chocolate covered Bismarck out of the box, and handed it to the girl.

It was thirty minutes before Marshall joined them. The two women were too involved in conversation to acknowledge him. Mary was talking to Rosita intensely. "So you never actually dated Briggs?"

"Only the one time when Stacy asked me to do a threesome. He called a lot for a while, but I didn't call him back. He was creepy."

"But Stacy talked about him?"

"All the time. She really didn't like him, but he paid the bills, and well, Stacy wasn't in a position to be too picky. Her boob job went bad, and she was all lopsided. Ruben wouldn't give her shifts at the club unless somebody called in sick."

"You think he killed her?"

Rosita nodded. "He was always threatening her with his gun. Said she was his to do with as he pleased. She was afraid all the time, and it was getting worse. She told me she was going to run. Said she was going to go back home, live with her mother. Two days after she said that, she was dead."

"There was another witness?"

Rosita looked at Marshall before responding. "I didn't know her. Bart said she was a former girlfriend. She got killed too. That's when Bart put me in a car and brought me here."

Mary looked at Marshall. "Three dead girls, a dead witness, and Rosita: you really know how to pick 'em. She's a material witness, you know. PD in Dallas must be going nuts."

Marshall poured himself a cup of coffee. "Right, but that was my problem…until now."

"Shut up, Marshall. I got your back. Get over it."

"You should've respected my wishes." He pulled a cake donut out of the box and sat down. Rosita had polished off her custard filled Bismarck, and started eyeing an apple fritter.

"Respected your wishes? What are you, a Mafia Don? Come on, Marshall, you need me. You and I both know that you don't know how to lie. You've got the world's worst poker face. If this goes wrong, they'll see right through you."

"This is a great partnership, you know. As long as I do what you say everything is peachy. What I want, what I say just doesn't matter. This is great, Mary. What's our next move? You just let me know, okay." Marshall grabbed his shoulder strap, gun, and suit coat, and headed for the door. "I'll wait outside until you figure it out."

Rosita looked at Mary after the door slammed. "You should be nicer to him."

She put her coffee cup in the sink. "I know."

"He's really decent, like a priest or something."

She smiled. "He really is."

"He's not going to let anyone get me, is he?"

Mary leaned across the counter. "When you have Marshall in your corner, safety is a guarantee. It's like money in the bank."

Rosita nodded.

Mary headed for the door. "Do not answer the phone. Do not answer the door. Do not text. Do not email. You got it, Rosita?"

"Tell Marshall to bring me potato chips, a can of tuna, and cream of mushroom soup. I make the best casserole."

"Damn, Girl, I'm coming back for that."


	3. Chapter 3

Marshall stared out the passenger door window Hi! Glad you are still reading. Here's a long one, and if this chapter doesn't hold you, I have lost my magic. Enjoy! Sheila Chapter 3

………………………………………..

Marshall stared out the passenger door window.

"Come on, Marshall. Talk to me."

He sighed. "You are really too much sometimes."

She nodded. "I know. I'm selfish, rude, and insensitive. What's not to like?"

He returned to staring out the window.

"How did you get involved in this?!"

Marshall shrugged.

"Uh-uh. I'm in this now. I get everything."

There was a long pause. "High school. I bet you were good at high school."

"Yeah, I suppose I was."

Marshall nodded. "Let me guess: captain of the basketball, volleyball, and track team."

"Yeah, plus hockey. I was the only girl on the team."

He raised an eyebrow. "Homecoming queen?"

"Sure."

Marshall chuckled. "You just take it all for granted."

Mary parked the car in the federal building lot and turned to Marshall. "You really were the nerd, weren't you?"

"I grew 7 inches in one year. Weighed about 38 lbs. Pimples. Read science fiction. Horn-rimmed glasses. I was a complete mutant."

"Damn. I used to give wedgies to guys like you."

Marshall winced. "Terrific."

"No, Marshall, come on. I'm joking."

"I said yes to a guy that I don't even like. I said yes because I believed him and I knew Rosita needed help, but I also said yes 'cause I wanted to be a stand up guy. I wanted to be one of the cool kids."

She shook her head. "Don't make it complicated. You did it because it was the right thing, and you always do the right thing."

He furrowed his brow. "You really believe that about me, don't you?"

Mary worried her lip for a moment before responding. "You…keep me grounded. Things go wrong and I look for you. That's why I have to be a part of this. Without you, I would spiral away from this world because Marshall, you are my gravity. I can't lose…you."

Marshall let out a breath. "Sometimes, you say the most remarkable things."

"Yeah, well, I don't like what conversations like this do to my stomach."

Marshall smiled. "Punch me. It'll make you feel better."

Before he could say anything more, he was doubled over, holding his gut. "Oooff! Jesus, Mary! I was kidding!"

Mary sighed deeply. "It does make me feel better. Thanks."

………………………………………………………………………………..

Mary dropped a bag of groceries on the counter. "Marshall wanted me to say that the store was out of tuna and potato chips, but I told him that we don't roll like that."

Rosita narrowed her eyes. "He a picky eater?"

She nodded. "Chicken, rice, fruits and vegetables, Mexican food, and pie. He drives me crazy on a road trip. Do they have chicken? Do they have pie? What's the vegetable of the day? Could I just get a banana? Sometimes, I feel like keeping him in the trunk."

"Do you think he'll like tuna casserole?"

"Nope, but we're going to make it for him anyway."

Marshall walked in with a canvas bag and put it down in front of Rosita. She looked inside and then frowned at him. "You're trying to distract me."

"You deserve a better life than this." Marshall said and turned to Mary without waiting for a response. "I'm going for a run."

"Doc says no more than 3 miles, Cowboy." She called after him.

Rosita pulled out a study guide for completing the GED and the accompanying textbooks.

Mary looked over her shoulder. "He spent the entire afternoon pulling this together for you."

"I told him that I had a plan. I know what I'm doing."

Mary smirked. "Yeah, and it's a great plan. You get used up by the time you're 30, and then you spend the rest of your life with regrets and nightmares. Brilliant!"

"I have 37 people—"

"What?! Are they quadriplegic?"

"You don't know what its like there. You don't know Juarez."

Mary fixed her with a glare. "Rosita, you're fooling yourself if you think they can't live without you. You've sent enough down there to keep people happy for a couple of years. Do something for you. Get an education, and then you're an earner for the rest of your life."

"What am I supposed to do with these?" Rosita pointed to her perfectly round breasts.

Mary studied her chest for a moment and shook her head slowly. "Sweetie, they are works of art, but, honestly, they're still just boobs. Boobs do not a life make."

Rosita seemed unsure how to respond.

Mary slapped her lightly on the arm. "Don't sweat it, Rosie. Let's make some tuna casserole."

………………………………………..

Led Zeppelin woke him up in the middle of the night. At first, he imagined Rosita was playing the television too loud, but then he remembered that Bart had left him with a disposable cell phone. He groped for the drawer of his nightstand and grabbed the phone, putting an end to an acoustic Stairway to Heaven.

"Marshall?"

"Yeah?"

"It's all going wrong."

Marshall could hear the panic in his voice. "Bart?"

"I'm in over my head."

"Talk to me."

"I can't find my partner; two days and he isn't anywhere. The last time we talked, he was going down to the precinct for a conversation. Nobody has seen him since."

Marshall sat up and reached for the light. "You gotta' calm down."

"They're on their way there."

"What do you mean? You didn't tell him, Bart, did you?"

"I told my partner, Joe."

Marshall caught his breath. "You weren't going to do that."

"Briggs is gone. I can't find him anywhere, and they want me down at the station. I figure I have about 30 minutes before they send a squad out for me. I gotta' run."

Marshall closed his eyes. "Bart, slow down—"

The phone went dead. Marshall shook his head and swore. He slammed the phone into the bed, and scrambled off in search of a pair of pants.

………………………………………………

Stan had a worried look on his face. "Mary, where's Marshall? I got the Dallas PD in the interview room. Is there anything I should know?"

"I don't know, Stan. I don't know." She buried the phone into her jacket.

Stan had hands on his hips. "What does that mean?!"

"There's a situation. Haven't had time to fill you in."

"Well, make time!"

She put her hands on his shoulders. "If only that was possible. You're going to have to let me take care of this."

He grabbed her arm, and she turned to glare at him. "Stan, do you know a better person than Marshall Mann?"

He sighed and let go. "You two are going to give me an ulcer."

Mary swept by him, and stopped at the interview door, ran her fingers through her hair, smoothed her jacket, and walked in.

……………………………………………………………….

Mary smiled at the three men across from her. "I wish we were better prepared. If we had known you were stopping, we'd be here in full force."

"Cut the crap! We need to talk with Mann. We suspect him in the kidnapping of a material witness in a Dallas murder investigation. We see him in this room in the next hour or your next orders come from New York."

Stan stiffened beside her and she responded with a boot to his shin. "Mashal Marshall Mann is out in the field. We don't do a lot of work in the office."

"Get him in here."

"Can't. He's in the middle of a witness relocation process. It's impossible."

One of the men stood up. "You're interfering with a murder investigation! Nobody gets to do that, not even the frickin' federal government! I want Mann and I want him now!"

Mary started to get up, but Stan pulled her back down hard in her seat. Stan may not have had the height, but he had the gravitas. "Captain Briggs, you think you can come in here with your trained monkeys, and tell us what to do? Where are your manners? You are a guest in this office so sit the fuck down!"

Briggs glared at Stan for a moment before lowering himself into his seat. Stan leaned forward. "You don't get to come in here, and tell us what is what. It doesn't work that way. You want to make phone calls? You want to get the big guys involved? Be my friggin' guest! I've got an empty conference room for you down the hall."

Briggs' face was red. "I'm not going to put up—"

Stan slammed a hand on the table. "You're in my house now! Behave like a person or get the hell out! I'm not in the habit of pulling my people off sensitive duty just because a cop with blood pressure issues starts dancing on my table. You want space to make good on your threats; go down the hall, first door on your right. Long distance service is free. Do not come back and talk to me until you've pulled yourself together."

The man could sense no sign of weakness in Stan so he nodded to his guys and marched down the hall. Stan waited until they were gone before turning to Mary. "Don't even start! I don't even want to know. I want you to get out there and find him. I'll stay here with Larry, Moe, and Curly. I want the two of you to fix this! Now! You understand!?"

Mary was out the door before he finished speaking.

………………………………………………………

Mary pulled the phone out of her jacket and slapped it to her ear. "4 hours, Marshall! 4 hours, I haven't heard back from you! Do you have a friggin' deathwish?!"

"I'm calling from a disposable cell."

No shit! Marshall, are you aware that our office is filled with angry Dallas PD right now including the celebrated Captain Briggs?"

There was a long silence. "Damn! I've really loused this up, Mary."

Mary slowed. "Calm down. Stan's on it. He loves this shit."

"He does not love this."

"He's doing okay, Marshall. He may not know what's going on, but he does not like arrogant out-of-towners telling him what to do in his own house. Believe me. He's going to have some fun with those guys."

There was another silence.

"Marshall, they haven't had time to put a trace. Tell me where you are. I'm coming to help."

"You can still stay clean. I've talked to Rosita. We never saw you."

"I swear to God. If I could just reach through the phone and get you by the neck, I swear to God."

"It's better this way. You have—"

"I will drive around Albuquerque for the next 36 hours if you make me. I will go to every place I have ever heard you mention. I will knock on the door of every witness you have ever had, and I will leave no stone unturned. I will find you, and after I have beaten you to a bloody pulp, I will help you. Do you understand me, Marshall?"

"Do you remember the time you pushed me in the pool? We're going to be there."

"You're kidding?"

"Make sure nobody is following you. We'll meet you there in a couple of hours."

"Oh boy, you are really asking for it, you know that?"

………………………………………………

It was a beautiful spread in the hills overlooking Albuquerque. Witnesses don't start out like this, but a little hard work and focus, and the good life is once again at their fingertips. Off the kitchen were a set of beautiful sliding glass doors that looked out on a pool and courtyard, the lights of Albuquerque off in the distance.

"Stan would kill you if he ever knew you were using a witness's home."

"The Burtons are in the Caymans for the next two weeks. I promised to water the plants." Marshall looked oddly relaxed sitting at the counter bar in a t-shirt and jeans.

Mary heard a splash and turned to see Rosita outside swimming as if she hadn't a care in the world. "Okay, We've got to sit down and figure this out."

"Have an iced tea." He pushed a pitcher toward her.

"Marshall, you don't seem to understand how serious these guys are."

"It doesn't matter. It's done. I've got lemon in the refrigerator. Would you like some?"

She glared at him. "What's going on, Marshall. What did you do?"

"I figured it out."

"Well, please share with the class then."

"Rosita and I were at my lawyer's office."

"Great, so you're going to adopt her. Brilliant! Probably doesn't solve the whole kidnapping a material witness thing though, especially since they probably don't backdate adoptions on Latina strippers, but it's a very creative move, nonetheless."

"Rosita and I swore out affidavits about everything each of us knows about this situation. She also swore out an affadavit saying that I lied to you about her status as a witness."

"What did you do, Marshall?"

He seemed fixated on the sweat coming off the cold glass of tea. "I really don't know what's real about this situation anymore. I don't know if Bart was real. I don't know if he was a bad guy or if he was telling the truth this whole time. The only real thing is Rosita. I believe she's telling the truth and I believe she's in danger. My responsibility is to her now."

Mary stood up. "What does that mean?!"

He took a deep breath. "I can't let my mistakes touch you or Stan. So I took steps. On the advice of my attorney, I've signed an agreement with the district attorney's office in Dallas to give myself up. I violated 3 state laws, and maybe two federal ones. I don't think it will be too bad. My lawyer thinks I'll get 3-6 years unless federal charges are also pressed, then it's…more."

"No!"

Marshall looked down at his glass. "I can't get a plea bargain because I won't give myself up until I know Rosita is safe. My plan is to get her to the courthouse for the grand jury and that's in three days. She testifies, and WitSec can take over…officially, this time. Maybe you can ask for her on your caseload. I'd like it if you did."

Eyes red, Mary picked up the glass of iced tea and threw it at the wall. Marshall closed

his eyes as glass shattered about the room. "You idiot! How could you do something like this without talking to me!"

She picked up the barstool and started to swing at the sliding glass door. Marshall leapt up and grabbed the stool. For a moment, they wrestled with it, but Marshall wrenched it away, and then Mary was on top of him, hitting at his face and shoulders. Marshall tried to deflect her blows, but she was wild. Finally, he captured an arm, and expertly pulled it down and around her back, driving her forward. She hit the wall with a thud, Marshall holding her tightly from behind. For a moment, there was no other sound than their mutually labored breathing.

"Let go of me! Let go!" She struggled against his hold.

"No," he said into the nape of her neck. "You're not going anywhere until you hear me out."

She struggled but he held fast until she finally relaxed. He waited until her breathing slowed. "Do you think this is easy for me? I'm going to prison, Mary. Everything I have ever dreamed of is ending. Do you understand that? My father…he'll probably never speak to me again. My mother will cry every time she sees me for the next 3 to 'who the hell knows' how many years. My purpose in this life is…over, but I will survive it…I will survive all of it. Do you hear me?"

She nodded, and with his body pressed against hers, he could feel the jagged breathing of her emotions. "I'm going to let go now."

He released her arms and started to step back, but she whirled around and grabbed him. This time it wasn't violent. She held him tightly in a hug, and her wet face on his neck was almost more than he could bear. "Marshall, we'll call Stan. The three of us will figure this out. We'll fight it together."

With great effort he pulled out of her grasp, and stood there, inches away, his hands on her face. "Mary, you have to listen to me. Can you do that? Can you try to listen?"

She nodded. He eyes were as wet as hers, and he reached over and gently wiped at the moisture under hers. "I can survive my mother's pain and my father's disapproval. They are responsible for the expectations they placed on me. I can survive losing this job, and any chance of ever being able to serve in law enforcement again. I can live with all of that pain, but you're asking too much. I cannot live with the idea that I brought you down with me. I can't, Mary. I can't do it. You're special to me in ways that I am unequipped to describe. Please don't put me through that. I'm begging you."

Mary gave in to her emotions and collapsed onto his chest. He held her in and rocked her. "Shhhh! Come on now, Dollface. You and I both know that you're the strong one. You have to do this 'cause I can't make it unless you do. I need you to walk away so I don't carry the burden of destroying your life. Will you do that for me, Mary?"

She clung tightly, sobbing into his skin. "I hate you, Marshall Mann. I really do."

"I know. I hate me too."

……………………………………………………………………

Brandi was in the driveway when Stan showed at 3:30 a.m. She didn't wait for the car to stop, grabbing the door handle as he shifted into park. He opened the door, and she was there; eyes red and puffy. "What happened? She won't tell us anything, and we can't reach Marshall."

"Where is she?" Then he heard a crash from within the house and he started running. Mary was sitting in the kitchen with a bottle of tequila in one hand, shards of a glass tumbler littered on the floor around her. Jinx saw Stan and came toward him. "She won't tell us anything. Cops brought her home about an hour ago."

Mary looked at him with red, rheumy eyes, a dark bruise high on her cheekbone. "I hate him, Stan."

"I know, Baby."

She rubbed at her swollen face. "You know?"

"His lawyer faxed me everything."

Mary covered her mouth. Stan looked at Jinx and Brandi. "I'm going to need some time with her."

"Did Marshall hit her?"

"No!" Brandi pulled at Jinx's arm. "Marshall couldn't. He wouldn't…ever. Come on, Mama. We gotta' let them talk."

Jinx reluctantly let Brandi pull her away. Stan waited until he heard a door close, and then he knelt in front of Mary. He reached for her bottle, but she jerked it away. He smiled. "You're not going to share with a friend?"

Mary dropped her head and let him take it. Stan found a couple of tumblers in the cupboard. He poured a double for both of them, took a long draw, and then spied a broom in the corner. Slowly, he began sweeping up the glass from around her feet. Mary ignored the tumbler of tequila, and watched him sweep. "Is he doing the right thing, Stan?"

Stan paused for a moment. "Honey, that's the only thing he knows how to do."

…………………………………………………………………..

Chapter 4 coming on Sunday


	4. Chapter 4

Thanks for reviewing

Thanks for reviewing. I love it. I am stuck on the ending, and so we will see if there are 2, 3, or 4 more chapters. Sheila

Chapter 4

Marshall looked down at his dinner. It consisted of two bags of salted peanuts, a banana, and a dubious piece of beef jerky. Rosita sat down across from him with a gas station burrito covered in nacho cheese and jalapenos and nodded at his selection. "Marshall, that's not a meal."

"Would it look better if I drowned it in processed cheese food and hot sauce?"

She pointed a plastic fork at him. "You are a picky eater."

"Not for long."

That silenced both of them for a while. Rosita waded in again. "Where are we going?"

He pushed a Texas map in front of her. "Pick a place within 100 miles of Dallas. We have 58 hours before the grand jury. We need to get close and then lie low. Any town you pick is as good as any other."

Rosita looked over his shoulder at the old Dodge pick-up painted in an odd toothpaste green. "I don't think you got much of a deal on your trade-in."

Marshall looked over his shoulder. "Well, I guess I wasn't really trying."

"Its so ugly it stands out. We're supposed to blend in."

He smiled. "Not really. It seems that with vehicles, money is the only thing that stands out. Junkers like this aren't going to standout in your average Texas town. There are studies."

She seemed unable to do much more than stir the cheese congealing on her burrito. "I don't really understand you. I don't know what makes you risk so much to keep me alive and then want nothing in return. I don't get it."

"Are you really prepared to go into that courtroom and testify against a police captain?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because Stacy was my friend, and because he shouldn't get away with what he did."

He pushed a bag of peanuts at her. "Rosie, you and I aren't that different. We both know that the world needs balance. Evil has to be counterbalanced with good. That's why you're risking everything to be in that courtroom. If I left you, knowing that you were in danger, I would have to live with the consequences of what happened to you for the rest of my life. I have a hard enough time going to sleep at night without seeing you every time I close my eyes. If I can do something, I have to; just like you."

She tore open the peanuts and sprinkled them on top of the cheese. "Man, it sucks to be us."

"Yeah, I guess it does."

Rosita waited until they were both finished eating. "You know, Marshall, she's not going to stay mad at you forever."

Marshall snorted. "You do remember her, right? The pretty blonde lady who tried to put a barstool through a window this morning and peppered me with enough bruises for a restraining order?"

"You really love her. It's kind of amazing…and weird."

Marshall exhaled hard and pushed away from the roadside table. "Well, let's hit the road again. It's getting dark. We should really find a motel before midnight."

She trotted after him. "They're probably going to think you're some kind of perv taking a young girl like me to a motel."

He looked back at her. "That's why you're going to display that expensive pair of headlights you call a bosom."

"I'll wear my pink sequined halter top."

He stopped short. "Hmm…sounds a bit flashy for the night guy at a roadside motel. We don't want to overwhelm him. I like that red tank top thingy."

She threw her arms in the air. "You told me to never wear it again. You said it should only be seen by two consenting adults alone in the privacy of their own bedroom."

"Yeah, perfect for the night guy."

……………………………………………………….

Mary strode in to the Dallas County District Attorney's office. She had barely the outline of a plan. Stan was back in Albuquerque watching everyone's caseload. By all measures, Stan should have been the one taking on the DA, but leaving Mary behind in Albuquerque would have been a disaster for their clients and possibly the entire city's population. She and Stan agreed that she should go to Dallas, and poke around a bit; if there was a way to help Marshall, it would be with those who held his future in their hands. She adjusted her silk top, applied lipstick, and smoothed her hair. Mary had no qualms with using every weapon in her arsenal.

The receptionist showed her into ADA Michael Burnside's office, and she gave her best shit eatin' Mary Shannon smile. The man behind the desk seemed impressed until she got closer and realized that she was the one in awe. He was one of those mannequin men you find in a magazine or on a daytime soap opera. Pretty coiffed black hair, blue piercing eyes, tall, strong, teeth like chiclets, and a jawline out of Roman sculpture; there are few people who really got better looking up close, but he was airbrushed reality in 3D.

After a moment, Mary realized she was too busy looking for his pores to have any sort of meaningful conversation. Michael Burnside came forward, shaking her hand firmly. "I understand you're here to help us out with that rogue agent of yours."

"Ah, yes…I mean, no! Marshall Mann is not a rogue agent."

He smiled broadly. "Please sit down, Marhsal Shannon. I want to hear everything."

Mary tripped over the armrest in her eagerness to comply.

"Careful there. Those chairs can really bite if you're not careful."

It was in this moment that Mary regained control. He was used to this; she could feel it. People were caught off guard by his beauty and charm. He was going to toy with her until she didn't know which way was up, and then sit back and wait for his next victim. Unfortunately, this Adonis didn't realize Mary wasn't just another prey animal; she was every inch the predator that he was. All plans to take off her suit coat, showing off her silk blouse and toned shoulders were abandoned. Mary secured the top button of her jacket and leaned forward.

"Let's not dance today. You're a looker; there's no doubt, but I don't have the time. Do you?"

He nodded. "Well, Marshal Shannon, you really know how to cut to the chase."

"Let's be clear: I am not here to help you prosecute Marshall Mann. If it was my choice, I would have had him lie, cheat, steal, and kill his way out of this, but…my partner's not cut from the same cloth as I am."

"Well, this is fun. Why else do you want me to know?"

Mary narrowed her eyes. "Marshall Mann is not guilty of any crimes. He may have had a lapse in judgment, but that girl is in danger, and the fact that the Dallas PD and your office think it's reasonable to keep a material witness within the department when the chief suspect has juice in the department; well, it's clear to anyone with the brain cells of a German shepherd that this is a complete cluster-fuck." Mary cleared her throat. "Excuse my language."

"Have you finished purging?"

Mary smirked. "I mean, who was the genius that came up with all this?"

Burnside raised an eyebrow. "Well, that would be me."

Mary let out a deep breath and sat back. She had to follow this all the way. She unbuttoned her jacket and threw it over the back of the chair; regarding him with a cock of her head. "Okay then Burnside, what do you have to say for yourself?"

He chuckled. "It's like watching a horrible yet oddly arresting train wreck. Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?"

She startled. "Are you kidding me? I mean, I am sure that urbane Cary Grant bullshit works with a lot of women, but I am not one of them."

He leaned forward. "Look, Mary. I can call you Mary, right?" He continued without a beat. "Your partner went too far. Captain Briggs has pull, but he doesn't own the whole department. Bart Preston was busted a rank by Briggs. There is no way he should have been within a thousand miles of this case, and your partner should have known better too."

"Where is Bart Preston? Is he okay?"

"And singing like a bird. He admits he was gunning for Captain Briggs. He got Rosita out of town so it would up the stakes. Man is going to lose his job, his pension. We are considering other charges. My guess is that once we get Ms. Torres on the stand tomorrow, she's going to tell us a big, fat zero. And the only one going down in this little drama is a hick U.S. Marshal with an itch for underage strippers."

"I want to talk to Preston."

"Not even if you put a gun to my head."

"Don't tempt me."

He smiled. "Man, you have to rethink dinner tonight."

Mary stood up and grabbed her coat. "You are playing the wrong game with me, Burnside."

"U.S. Marshall office here in Dallas is meeting with me this afternoon. It looks like they want to file federal charges. Your guy is looking at 10-20 years."

Mary blinked back angry tears. Words couldn't help her in this moment. She headed for the door.

"Hey!" She stopped to listen. "Briggs could be guilty, but he's never going down for this because a couple of dumb cops and a U.S. Marshal decided to make up their own rules. It's a contaminated mess. I doubt any grand jury will ever be able to unravel this."

"Go to hell!" she said, slamming the door behind her.

…………………………………………………………………………….

Marshall dreaded this phone call, but he promised her he would make it once a day. He sat on the concrete outside the motel room and regarded the disposable cell phone in his hands. The only concession he was willing to make with her was the daily phone call. The sun was high overhead, and he rolled his t-shirt up his stomach for relief. They were going to fight. She was hurting. He was hurting. The hole in his gut would take another blow. He almost looked forward to his arrest; the pressure inside him would finally be alleviated.

He winced, thinking about their last conversation. Those moments when he had her trapped against the wall were the most intimate moments of his life. Marshall knew that intimacy was deeper than naked bodies and sex. Intimacy happened in that moment when one's soul came in contact with another's. That was the moment he'd had with Mary Shannon yesterday. He had shared everything in he knew how to articulate, and was only relieved he'd no words to describe the all-consuming passion for her he had in his heart. He took a deep breath and hit her number.

"Marshall?"

"Hey, Mary."

"Damn! It took you forever."

"Did you check in with the Martins?"

"I'm in Dallas. Stan is doing the babysitting."

He caught his breath. "We had a deal."

"Right. You're taking the fall. I get it, but there's nothing that says I can't soften the landing."

He chuckled. "Okay. So how's that working for you? Better yet. How's that working for me?"

"Ummm…mixed results. Good news: the ADA has a thing for me. Bad news: I wasn't very diplomatic with him."

Marshall closed his eyes. For her to recognize her behavior meant it had to have been pretty bad. "Maybe you shouldn't do any more…softening."

"Marshall, I think there's a good chance Bart Preston was setting you up."

He winced.

"The ADA thinks you got caught in his scheme to set up Briggs."

"Do you believe that?"

"I don't know."

"It would mean Rosie was a part of it."

Neither spoke for a while. Then Marshall sighed. "In for a penny, in for a pound. If I'm a patsy, then so be it. Besides, I believe her, and I'm not handing her over until that grand jury meets."

"Marshall…"

"What?"

"My chest wants to explode. I'm trying to help, but I can't seem to do anything."

"It's okay, Pumpkin. I'm just happy you're still talking to me."

Mary couldn't contain herself. "The head office wants to press charges, Marshall. You may be looking at…more time."

Marshall felt the bile rise in his throat. He pulled the phone away from his ear.

"Marshall?"

He snapped the phone close as he doubled over, vomiting off the curb.

………………………………………………..

Mary was desperate enough to call ADA Burnside and suggest dinner at an elegant Italian place near the courthouse. Chances were high that this meeting would result in a murder, but the alternative was looking for Bart Preston in a town where she had no connections. The silk blouse and her gray slacks were going to have to do, but she did take a moment to dab on a bit of Chanel from a tester bottle in Bloomingdales. She was going to make nice. And then she was going to call Marshall afterward, damn his phone rules, and give him some kind of good news.

It was close to 9:00 when she got to the restaurant, and the sun had disappeared over the horizon. The desert heat was starting to dissipate, and she welcomed the cool breeze on her shoulders. A man walked up beside her. "Marshal Shannon?"

She nodded.

"The ADA had to take a call. He's still in his car, and he's wondering if you'd join him there."

She frowned slightly, but followed the man back into the parking lot. He led her toward the back where a black sedan sat. Something in her gut stirred and she hesitated. He whirled around, his hand pulling a gun out of his jacket. Mary was faster and caught him in the arm before he could squeeze the trigger. To her right, she felt movement and turned in time to take a jolt straight to her chest. It sucked out all of her breath like a vacuum and she crumbled to the ground.

……………………………………………………

Marshall cursed at the ringing phone. He would answer this last call and then he was ditching it. There were only 11 hours left anyway.

"I swear to God, Mary—"

"Sorry, Mr. Mann. She's not available." The voice was deep and cold.

"Who is this?"

"A better question is this: Who is more important to you; your partner or that little Mexican whore with you?"

His heart stopped. "I want to talk to her."

"Yeah, she's not doing that well right now. She could use a friend. But you're going to have to give up the slut."

Marshall closed his eyes and slowed his breathing. "How do you want to do this?"

"Good boy! We figure you're somewhere near Dallas. We need you to get on highway 101 and be at the Alamo Road exit in one hour."

"You're not telling me anything."

"Get to that exit and you'll hear from me again."

Marshall heard dial tone. He looked up and saw Rosita staring at him from the other bed. "Be in the truck in 3 minutes."

She opened her mouth, but he put up a hand. "No questions, Rosie. Just get in the truck."

…………………………………………

Marshall looked at the club across the street. He could hear the salsa music clearly, and people were straining to get in. He turned to Rosita. "Can you disappear in there for a few hours?"

"I should go with you."

He shook his head. "No, we don't play his game. I bring you and all three of us are dead."

"What do I do?"

"Go in and dance. Make some friends. Don't leave that club for any reason until I come for you. You understand?"

She nodded.

"If I don't come for you by 2 a.m., you call this number. A guy named Stan is going to answer and you do everything he says. Everything!"

It was all stripped away, and Rosita Torres looked 18 years old finally. "Please come back."

He softened. "I plan on it, Darlin'."

She looked at the crowd for a moment, blinking back tears. "I think tonight is the pink sequined halter top."

He smiled. "That's just what I was thinking."

…………………………………………………………….

He was two miles away from the exit when he got the next call. He was directed to a deserted county park, rolling slowly into the parking lot. He carried in his waistband and on his ankle. He thought if they saw he was missing a shoulder holster, they'd relax. Hands up, he walked slowly into park, the grounds littered with brown picnic tables and big Oak trees. Each step he took sounded sharp and alarming, and he almost shouted in panic when a voice called out to him to move toward the pavilion. Marshall stayed cool because he had nothing left in his life but the focus of this one moment.

10 feet before the pavilion he heard a gun cock, and he whirled around instinctively digging the glock out of his waistband. Before he could aim, he felt a sharp pain to his left temple.

Next Chapter is Monday or Tuesday


	5. Chapter 5

Hi

Hi! This is a long one. There are two short ones after this. I'm so glad people are enjoying this!

Chapter 5

It was hard to pinpoint where the most painful part of his body was. His head ached tremendously, but as he started to feel lucid, the pain in his tightly bound hands and feet joined the chorus. He was wedged awkwardly against a wall, mosquitoes buzzing around his face. He attempted to sit up, but alarms sounded throughout his body. He groaned and his head slid on something solid and soft.

"Marshall? Sweetie? Wake up."

"Thank God!" His mouth could barely shape the words.

She chuckled. "Really? We're tied up in a shed with no moving air, it's 90 degrees, I could drink piss, mosquitoes have been feeding on me for the last eight hours, and the goons outside the door are discussing which body part they're going to pull a hole through first, and you want to thank God. Marshall, you need to learn to aim higher than that."

With much effort, Marshall inched his swollen face up her arm and rested it on her shoulder. "I'm easy to please."

"You shouldn't have come."

"I didn't bring Rosita."

"I know. You are very unpopular right now. The fact that they don't have her is the only thing that's kept you breathing. They're out there looking for her. They figure you dropped her somewhere within twenty minutes of this park. I imagine they're right. It's not much of a radius. Please tell me you didn't drop her in a motel."

"You ask too many questions. Have they hurt you? Can you run if we get the chance?"

She leaned her face on the top of his head, whispering into his hair. "I can run. Do you have a plan?"

"Well, it was sort of a 'Find Mary' plan. Mission accomplished. Haven't really formulated the whole 'getting you out of here' angle yet."

"That's my Marshall: Thinking why have one of us die when you can have two of us."

"Not exactly the outcome I was seeking." The pain in his temples grew.

"You're supposed to get her to a courthouse in a few hours. What happened to that?"

"The three of us will get her there."

"Marshall…we're not both getting out of here."

"Nonsense." He struggled with the ropes around his wrists, wincing as the nylon tore into his flesh. He briefly imagined how nice it would be if someone could remove the top part of his skull for a while.

She sighed deeply. "When they can't find Rosita, they're going to send you out after her, but you're not going to bring her back."

Marshall stopped moving. His breathing slowly joined hers.

She whispered into his hair. "You're not going to bring her back because it's not what we do. We protect. If a bullet is coming for both her and me, you're trained to pull her to safety. We swore an oath, Marshall. Its who we are."

"She's not WitSec."

"Doesn't matter."

"I'm not leaving you."

She kissed the top of his head. "You're going to have to leave me. You would expect it from me if our roles were reversed. In fact, I can recall a time not so long ago when that exact situation happened, and I had to leave you."

"But you didn't."

"I couldn't, Sweetie, we were boxed in. There's a difference."

His voice grew thick. "What if the person leaving doesn't think they could stand losing the other person? What if the person leaving would die for the other person?"

"Then that person needs to understand that the person staying feels the same way. Losing you to prison felt like much more than I could bear, but I knew I had to. You have to survive this. You have to leave when the time comes and do the thing that only you can do."

Marshall closed his eyes, and breathed in her skin.

……………………………………………..

"You gave him a friggin' concussion earlier. Go slow!"

Marshall's foggy head started to clear as hands grabbed him and pulled him to his feet. The pain in his tethered limbs was electric and he shouted in protest. He was pushed up again a wall, and the man pulled out a knife. Marshall couldn't even begin to formulate a defense when the man bent over and cut through the bonds around his ankles. Feet released, he struggled to stay upright as blood rushed to his numb extremities.

A big man was in his face, the hard steel of a gun pushing into his throat. "4 hours and we haven't found that little bitch. Do you want to see your blonde friend die?"

Marshall shook his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mary still tied up on the floor.

"We want that little slut! Where did you put her?"

Marshall focused on Mary and she grew a strange smile. The butt of the gun slammed into the back of his head and he sank back into darkness.

"He isn't going to be any good to you if you keep hitting him in the head, Numbnuts!"

"Shut up, Bitch!"

Marshall's eyes fluttered open again, and his gut heaved, but there was nothing left in him, and he only managed to retch a couple of times.

"She's gonna' die, but I promise you I'm gonna' have fun with her first. Do you want to watch?"

Marshall's dry mouth couldn't muster enough saliva to spit at the man so he concentrated on staying upright.

"You have one hour to get this right. Go get the Mexican whore, and you can have the blonde. I got a guy parked two miles in each direction. I see a cop; she's dog food. Sound like a deal?"

Marshall struggled to find Mary again, but the man had turned him in another direction.

"In one hour, I will kill her, and it will be the most fun I have had in years. There's a big part of me that's hoping you don't make it back in time."

Marshall noted that his feet were starting to cooperate, and so he pulled away from him. He turned to find Mary. She was still curled up in the corner. In his earlier haze, he hadn't noticed the blood on her wrists or the bruises on her face. He could tell she was pale even in the dim light. "Mary?"

She looked at him feverishly. "Do the what the man says. We talked about this. You need to go get Rosita."

He shook his head slowly.

"Go! The man is giving you a chance…to save me! Go get the slut!"

He couldn't stifle a moan.

"Quit being such a pansy, Marshall! Go do what you gotta' do!"

He tried to form words, but nothing came. The man pushed him toward the door. Marshall looked for her one last time, but she wouldn't meet his eyes.

………………………………………………….

Marshall had to struggle to maintain consciousness, and he pulled the truck over at the first gas station he saw. He stumbled to the pay phone and dialed Stan.

……………………………………….

Fifteen minutes later, he was slumped over the steering wheel in the early morning light. He took it slow navigating his way out of the truck; making sure that the street was deserted before he crossed. The club had long since closed for the night but she was nowhere to be seen. He sat down on the steps and dropped his throbbing head into his hands. He put his life and Mary's in the hands of a girl he didn't even know, and in the end, it had been for nothing. The only thing to do was to go back for Mary, but he could hardly negotiate a street, let alone mastermind a rescue mission.

He saw movement, and looked up to see a large Hispanic man walking toward him. His weapons and phone were gone, but he braced himself against the step. If this man wanted him, he wasn't going to go easy.

The man stopped short and nodded. "You Marshall Mann?"

Marshall nodded. The man turned around and cupped his hands around his mouth. "Rosita, I found your gringo!"

Marshall struggled to his feet. "Don't let her out into the open. Please. She's in danger."

"Relax, Cholo. Ain't nobody touching her."

The man put Marshall's arm over his shoulder, and carefully walked him down to a diner at the end of the block. There was a group of Hispanic men seated on the front porch, looking hard. The man nodded at them, and they moved aside so he could bring Marshall inside. The diner smelled of corn and spices, and for a brief moment, Marshall pondered the last time he ate food. There was a pink flash from the left, and then Rosita was hugging him tightly around the middle. He raised his head. "Mary needs help."

She nodded. "I know. I just got off the phone with Stan. He said he's taking care of it. He told me to just wait for you."

He narrowed his eyes. "You were supposed to call him hours ago."

"My new friends were watching over me. No worries, Marshall."

"What time is it?"

"We have to be at the courthouse in three hours."

The man dropped him into a booth and Rosita slid in next to him. She began speaking rapid Spanish. Within minutes, there were wet towels to clean his wounds, hot coffee, and a steaming plate of Chilaquiles. At some point, his face landed in the dish, and exclamations sounded around him before he lost consciousness.

………………………………………..

Rosita was looking down at him when he woke. "Hey Mr. Marshall, it's time to go."

Marshall struggled to his feet. The room spun around him, but he managed to grab hold of a booth.

"Maybe I should go by myself."

He shook his head. "Not happening. Can you drive, Rosie?"

"No, but don't worry, Hector and Luis are going to take us in their Cadillac."

Before Marshall could protest, he was led out the door by several young men, and deposited in a long pink car; the gleaming rims decorated with cutouts of voluptuous girls. The conversation during the drive was in Spanish, but despite his considerable lingual abilities, he was too foggy to make sense of it. He rolled down a window and leaned his head out, hoping the fresh air was clear his thoughts. A block before the courthouse, he told Rosie's friends to stop. He looked at her. "You and I have to take this alone now. This car drives up, and it's going to have the attention of every sheriff's deputy around."

He got out and awkwardly pulled her into a shopping center. All of the shops were filled with people, and the only person who looked out of place was himself. He looked around and realized he was the only gringo as far as the eye could see. He spied a nearby beauty salon and pulled her inside. He sat down heavily in a seat next to a large Hispanic woman under a hair dryer. Rosie sat down next to him. "Why are we stopping? Let's keep going."

He shook his head. "We couldn't be more obvious. We'll never get past the courthouse steps. And look at you; you can't go in dressed like this."

The woman under the hairdryer looked at him from over her reading glasses, and Rosie smiled. "You should see yourself. You look like you were hit by a truck shortly before suffering a heroin overdose. You're the one who stands out."

"We certainly are a pair."

The Hispanic woman summoned a girl and whispered in her ear. The girl frowned at Marshall and hurried away.

Marshall groaned. There seemed to be nowhere on the planet he was allowed to stop and think. He leaned over. "We have to get up again. I have no more plans. When we get close, I'll create a distraction and you run. It's the best I've got."

She nodded. "I'm going to tell them I won't testify unless they agree not to arrest you."

Marshall shook his fragile head sharply, pain radiating white in his temples. "No! You go in and testify. It's on the 3rd floor. Get in an elevator filled with people. Stay in large groups. When you get to the 3rd floor, you just introduce yourself to the first deputy you see and tell him you are in danger."

She looked away.

"No games, Rosie! You do what I say and tell them exactly what you remember, you hear?"

She nodded reluctantly.

"The prosecutor is going to be hard on you. He's going to try and impeach—call you a liar. When he does that, you don't get upset. You stay calm and you tell him he's wrong."

"Should I tell them—"

"Just the truth, Rosie. Answer the questions he asks. Understood?"

"Okay."

"Help me up, Honey." She grabbed his arm and pulled him as he groaned in protest.

The Hispanic woman also stood and looked him in the eye. "Follow me."

Marshall looked hard at her for a moment. Then he turned to Rosita. "Do it."

The two of them followed the woman into the back. She turned. "You two clowns aren't going to get in anywhere looking like that. Elena, venga!"

A young hairdresser trotted in, listened to the woman rattle off orders, and left. Marshall turned to Rosita. "I can't even begin to think what she is saying."

"She's telling her to run out and get some girls from the food court. I don't know why."

Marshall frowned at the woman. The hairdresser came back in. "I have found them, Judge."

He stepped back a moment. "I am not going to hurt you, Ma'am, but I need to know if law enforcement is going to pour through the door of the salon any minute."

"I'm Judge Isabel Gomez. I know who you are. Security's been beefed up since yesterday."

Marshall leaned against the wall. "I just need to get her in there safely. Then I surrender quietly. No problems."

"Dallas PD screwed this one up from the first moment. They should have insisted that an outside agency take over the minute the accusation was made against Captain Briggs."

"Yes, ma'am."

"The ADA is a buffoon and Briggs is a criminal…and probably a murderer."

"Yes Ma'am."

The judge turned to Rosita, shaking her head. "If you show up in court looking like this…" She took her by the arm. "Elena, do something with her hair. Bring me the girls."

Marshall slid down into a chair and watched as the hairdresser led Rosita off and ushered three schoolgirls into the room. The judge pulled out the tallest one. "Nita, here's fifty bucks. I need you to do some quick shopping for me."

"Abuelita!"

"Not for you, Baby." She pointed at Nita's larger friend. "I need you to find a white blouse that fits her, and a shirt that fits you. Church clothes. Go to the tienda across the street. 10 minutes, I need you back here. Entiende, Baby?"

The girls looked at each other, and then ran out of the salon.

Marshall shifted in his chair. "Have you ever thought about joining the U.S. Marshalls?"

Judge Gomez smiled. "Does she have a lawyer?"

"No, Ma'am."

She frowned at him, pulled out her cell, and began speaking sharply to someone on the other end. Marshall strained to pick out words, and was able to make out that Judge Gomez was speaking with a niece who was a lawyer. Then she put her phone away. "My niece, Conchita, will meet us there. She's a good attorney."

Marshall struggled to his feet. "We don't have much time. The grand jury opens in twenty minutes."

"Are you going to make it?"

"I'm a tough cowboy, Ma'am."

She looked at him for a moment. "I have no doubt. Do you have a lawyer?"

"Yes, Ma'am. I have already signed a deal."

She pursed her lips. "We'll see about that."

……………………………………………………

Judge Gomez leaned out the driver's side of her Mercedes. "Good morning, Raoul."

He tipped his head. "Your honor." Then he noticed her guests. "We have a security situation today. May I ask who you have with you this morning?"

"I completely forgot, Raoul. What a day to bring my nieta to work. She so wants to see her abuelita in action."

Rosita's hair was pulled back tightly and her face scrubbed clean. She wore a white blouse with lace and a skirt with enormous blue flowers. She smiled at the parking guard.

"The child is trying to decide between law and hairdressing." Judge Gomez gave him a long-suffering look.

Raoul's attention was focused on the badly bruised man sitting next to the girl. He looked at Judge Gomez. "Who is this, Your Honor?"

She rolled her eyes. In a low voice, she said. "I have told you about my idiot gringo of a son-in-law."

His eyes widened.

"He says he was mugged last night at the club."

"He looks like he needs a hospital."

Judge Gomez leaned further out the window. "Idiot lost his paycheck. He wants to file a complaint with Victim's Services first."

Raoul nodded solemnly. "We do not pick our in-laws."

"They say God never sends more than we can handle, but I don't know, Raoul…" She shook her head wearily.

In the backseat, Marshall wondered if God was aware of his current circumstances.

…………………………………………

Everything hurt. Mary had stopped paying attention to each as specific complaints. It was a cacophony of pain that came together like a symphony, and kept her teeth tightly clenched. The car hit another bump, and jostled her battered body. It was dark in the truck, but she didn't need light for her work. The pain in her wrists had numbed after all the chafing she had done in an effort to loosen the ropes. Three hours into it though, and she still had a long way to go.

No woman wants to hear that a man plans to rape her, but Mary had felt a flood of relief when he chose to take her with him rather than kill her in the shed. It wasn't going to mean much if she had no way to fight him when he finally got to his destination and started his "fun", but Mary was ferocious in a way that few people could comprehend. His threats signaled opportunity for her, and she was going to fight for every inch of it.

She yelped as another bump threw her, and then got back to the business of freeing her battered wrists.

………………………………………………………………..

Marshall stopped when the elevator doors opened. The 3rd floor was wrong, very wrong. Architects for Federal buildings tended to create wide open spaces. It made the services within seem less ominous. Security in such a structure was a constant nightmare. For this building the third floor squared around a large courtyard in the lobby. People from floors below and floors above all had open angles on someone walking along the third floor railing. He swallowed hard, and held Rosita behind him. Judge Gomez was wearing her black robes, and started to stride past him. He reached out and pulled her back. "This is a security nightmare."

"I'm not afraid. Just follow me down the hall."

"Absolutely not, your honor. Your participation ends here."

The imperious judge snorted. "You can barely stand. You don't even have a weapon."

Marshall grinned out of one corner of his bruised mouth. "I'm a badass U.S. Marshal, Ma'am. I've never let anything happen to one of my witnesses. We would never have gotten this far without you, but the last three hundred yards are mine."

She nodded and stepped back into the elevator.

Marshall put his arm over Rosita's shoulders. He could feel the fear in her skin. "We're going to pretend that you're not holding me up."

Rosita couldn't manage a smile.

"I'm going to stay between you and the wall. We're going slow, and you're going to keep your eyes focused on the end of the hallway."

Rosita nodded.

"If I tell you to drop, if I tell you to run; you don't ask me any questions. You just do it."

She blinked back tears.

"Soon, they're going to see us, and people with guns are going to run toward us. Remember that they are focused on me. They think I'm the bad guy. When I tell you, you run to them. You'll be safe then."

"And you?"

Marshall couldn't remember the last time he slept, and he had long since vomited the chilaquiles she'd fed him a few hours earlier. The pain in his skull had been joined by a maddening buzz that made it very hard to concentrate. Memories of Mary would've sunk him for sure, and so he stayed stubbornly grounded in the moment. "Don't worry, Rosie. They'll tell me to get down and put my hands out, and I'm going to eagerly comply."

They moved slowly along the wall. People passing noticed the odd couple inching awkwardly along, but Marshall paid no attention. He scanned his angles as best he could. There was a process to doing this well, but it wasn't something his throbbing skull could access.

There was a shout, and a sheriff's deputy pointed at him from about fifty yards. Marshall paid no attention. There was a weird flash of light from the floor above, and he stayed focused on that location.

The yelling became a chorus, and Rosita grabbed him around the middle. "Marshall, they want us to get down! We have to get down!"

There was a man at the railing pulling something from his jacket. Marshall held his breath. He saw the glint of steel, and he pointed into the air, yelling "Gun! Gun!"

Deputies were advancing on him screaming at him to get down. No one could hear him. Marshall saw the man pointing it at them, and he slammed Rosita into the wall and threw himself on top of her. Guns roared.

……………………………………

Chapter 6 on Wednesday


	6. Chapter 6

Stan was very alone in a hallway crowded with people

Stan was very alone in a hallway crowded with people. His tone was clipped, and no one approached unless they were feeling lucky. Stan had a reputation within the service. Stories of his own WitSec cases were legendary. He was a rogue, that reputation would always follow him, but he was also as tenacious as a bulldog, and had stared down more than a few killers in his days.

The Dallas office may not have been happy with the situation, but they denied him nothing. Currently, he had half the office combing a county park for Mary, and the other half with him on the 3rd floor of the Federal building. To his consternation, it had become quite a party. Dallas SWAT was there and Dallas County Sheriff as well as Dallas Homicide. The FBI had crashed about an hour ago, claiming jurisdiction, but Stan just ignored them.

All the different branches congregated in separate groups discussing strategies that would undoubtedly duplicate each other. Dallas Homicide and the FBI were arguing over the spot on the 4th floor balcony where an armed man took a shot at Marshall and Rosita. The man didn't get away. He lay dead right where Stan dropped him when he trained on the area where Marshall had pointed right before they'd all lost their minds.

The fact that he was the only casualty was nothing short of amazing. The shooter had missed Marshall and Rosita, and once deputies realized that Marshall was not the one posing the threat, guns went down.

Marshall wouldn't let go of the girl until Stan came over, and whispered in his ear. It was immediately clear that Marshall was barely conscious, and Stan sat with his agent until the medics arrived. Dallas PD showed up and arrested him as he was being loaded unto a stretcher. It took everything in Stan not to taunt them for handcuffing Marshall when he couldn't have outrun a two year old to the elevators.

Stan cared about his agents. He handpicked Mary and Marshall because they were smart, dogged, and just a little bit crazy. Stan's philosophy was simple: his agents could be just as kooky as they wanted as long as they put their whole heart into their work. He didn't teach them the detachment that other offices would have taught. He knew that, in dangerous work, you needed to care about one another, and those two definitely did. There were times when he saw a look in Marshall's eyes that told him that the man loved his partner. He would have tried to discourage it if it had been anyone else, but Marshall wasn't a casual person. Marshall could be an immovable object when he chose, and loving Mary was not something a simple conversation was going to touch. Stan certainly had no interest in telling him that Mary wasn't coming back.

A man approached him. "You're Marshall's boss?"

"Yeah." Stan had no interest in civility.

"My name is…Bart Preston. I was the cop who—"

"I know who you are."

"I just wanted to know how he is."

Stan raised an eyebrow. "Well, he's going to jail. He might have a skull fracture, and there's a good chance we'll find his partner dead. Does that clue you in on an answer?"

"I…it wasn't easy here. I have a family—"

"Oh, you're the one with the family? Terrific. The rest of us wish we had families so we could be excused from making the right decision."

"You weren't here."

"No, neither were you."

"I'm going to go into the grand jury now and set the record straight."

"Well, unless Briggs hired an 8 year old as his defense attorney, they're going to murder you on the stand."

"I am sorry."

"Forget it, Preston. He doesn't have time for you, and neither do I."

"Just tell him I'm sorry."

Stan turned away to answer his cell. It was another agent tell him that they still hadn't found her. He slid the phone shut with barely a grunt as acknowledgement.

The courtroom doors opened, and a tall Hispanic woman in a suit came out, Rosita trailing behind. They made for Stan. Rosita ran ahead. "Where's Marshall? Did you find Mary?"

He shook his head.

"Can I see Marshall?"

"No, Honey. He's in the county jail clinic right now. No visitors."

Rosita bit her lip and looked away.

"If you're ready, we've got a place for you. You must be exhausted after all of this."

The tall woman stepped forward and offered her hand. "I'm Conchita Alvarez. I'm Rosita's attorney."

"We won't be able to tell you where she's going, but you can contact her through me."

She shook her head. "I'd like to take her home."

Stan frowned. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"This girl has been exploited in numerous ways including by the very people sworn to protect her. It's enough. Dallas PD has played fast and loose with her safety since the moment she came forward. Your agent was the only one who showed any concern for her well-being. I don't want her making another decision unless I'm right there beside her."

"We'll need to post guards."

"It's not a problem. We'll be staying at my aunt's house. She's Judge Gomez. The deputies are used to the layout."

Stan motioned to a couple of agents. "No mistakes on this one, Fellas. Okay?"

Rosita grabbed his arm. "You'll call me. Please."

He gave her hand a squeeze and nodded.

……………………………………

Mary was experiencing a moment like no other. She literally hadn't the energy to lift her hand off the ground. It was frustrating, to say the least. He'd stopped moving but she couldn't tell if he was unconscious or dead. The pair of shears sticking out of his chest should have given her some comfort, but she was as weak as a kitten, and could do nothing more to defend herself.

She should have been more patient, but her revulsion at the idea of any part of him touching her had propelled her prematurely. He had seen her hand before she'd hit him the first time. The only saving grace was that he hadn't anticipated her strength. She caught him under the jaw and stunned him. His response was to grab her tightly around the middle and squeeze. There was a candy bowl within reach, and she drove it into his skull. Shards of it were still embedded in her hand.

Where the scissors came from, she didn't remember, but she drove it into his chest with everything she had. She dropped to the floor, her last reserve drained. He staggered for a couple of minutes, and she waited for him to find his gun, but he was too distracted by his current circumstances. After what seemed like an eternity, he spun around and crumpled to the ground.

She tried to pull herself up again, but her adrenaline was gone. She closed her eyes and slipped away.

………………………………………………………

The patients on either side of him were fighting. One had a knife wound in his gut, and yet he was somehow still interested in taunting his attacker two beds away. It was only the cast holding the other man's leg in the air that kept him from leaping off the bed and finishing the job. Between them, Marshall lay, oblivious to their energy. The room was long and busy; patients needing beds lining the wall on metal folding chairs. The staff was overworked and perfunctory. Any requests he made were either ignored or dismissed. The realization slowly washed over him that this would be his life for years to come. He was essentially becoming invisible to everyone but the other inmates.

The broken leg threw his dinner tray at the knife wound; the bulk of it landing on Marshall. Guards rushed in, wrestled with both patients, and ended up wheeling the broken leg out into the hall. When no one came to assist, Marshall had to mop up the greasy food off the bed, and push the stained, grey woolen blanket onto the floor.

Then he lay back and stared at the ceiling. Mary filled his thoughts. He had no space for the memories of her. Rather, his mind, unconcerned with missing details, forced him to think about what happened after he drove that truck away from the county park. She was dead now; he was sure of it. She'd been driven away from the park and killed. The manner of how it had occurred was what haunted him now. Someone had taken his beautiful, exotic animal and destroyed her, and it was only a matter of time before Stan would show up to tell him about it. The utter injustice of it left him without any footing.

Beyond that, he wasn't aware of any feelings. At this moment, he was little more than an observer on his own life, and frankly, he was becoming bored. He could muster very little interest in what was to come next.

……………………………………………………..

Stan followed Conchita Alvarez into the spacious living room of the Spanish style home. The impressive Judge Isabel Gomez stepped forward to shake his hand.

"Ma'am, the detail has gone over the grounds. You should have a quiet night."

"I don't think Captain Briggs will be bothering us. I suspect he's going to focus on lying low."

"A sniper in a federal building is a very bold move."

"The FBI has the case now. Briggs isn't getting anywhere near it. I suspect that will help things considerably."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Have you eaten?"

Stan shifted from one foot to the other. "Uh…well, I have a lot on my plate right now."

"I'd like it if you could join us for a little Menudo. It's my mother's recipe."

"I still have an agent missing."

"And you still have to eat. We are interested in more than just feeding you, Lieutenant. I would like to talk to you about Marshall Mann."

Stan furrowed his brow, and followed the women into the kitchen.

…………………………………………………..

Marshall had been in his new cell for only an hour before a guard came for him.

"Hey Lawman, you have a visitor."

Marshall winced. It had not been his intention to advertise his former profession.

"Who is it?"

"Do I look like your social secretary?"

"Is it a short, bald guy, U.S. Marshall?"

The guard laughed. "Definitely not. Spanish woman. Name of Alvarez. Says she's your lawyer."

Marshall frowned. "I don't have a lawyer named Alvarez."

Guard waved an arm. "I don't have all afternoon to sit here and discuss your particulars. You want to see the broad? She's a looker. It might be awhile before you see another."

Marshall sighed. It was probably a prosecutor about the federal charges Mary mentioned. Bad news just kept parading his way. He lay back on his thin bunk. "I'm not going anywhere. The only visitor I'm interested in is my boss."

"In a few weeks, you're going to be so bored, you'll take visits from the devil himself."

"Looking forward to that," he said to the guard's retreating back. He rolled over on his side and closed his eyes.

…………………………………………………………..

The Sheriff had to jog to keep up with him. "They found her in the ditch of a frontage road. She was dehydrated, delusional. Her attacker, if you could call him that, was in a cabin five miles in county with a pair of scissors in his chest and the remains of a candy bowl buried in his skull. Poor bastard had no idea he was trying to assault Wonder Woman. The reason it took us awhile to reach you is that, initially, she kept making us call a feller named Marshall, but no one answered. It was only this morning after she'd gotten some sleep and some fluids that she gave us your name and number."

Stan burst through the emergency room doors, and looked wildly about the room.

The Sheriff put a hand on his shoulder. "Relax, Fella. She's doing just fine. Gets feistier every hour. She's got some bruises, cuts, but mainly she just needed some rest and groceries."

There were raised voices coming from a curtain at the end of the room, and Stan made for it. He pulled the curtain back and found her; stringy hair, a maze of cuts, and that look of fire in her eyes that he knew very well. She was currently in a tug of war with a nurse over a very battered pair of grey slacks.

She spotted Stan and dropped the pants. She tried to scramble out of bed, but he caught her in a hug, and pushed her back down. "You're a menace, Mary Shannon," he whispered before letting her go.

"Where's Marshall? Rosie? Nobody here knows anything."

"Shhhh! Slow down. Rosie's fine. Marshall's…fine."

"She testified?"

"She sure did and we got an indictment on murder one."

"Where is he?"

Stan sighed. "Honey, you know he made that deal."

"Stan, we can't leave him. I need to see him. Please."

"Well, I'm sure the staff here had no idea what an IV and a little sleep was going to produce."

"If the Commandant here would give me my pants, I'll be all ready to go."

Stan eyed the nurse. "Is she ready?"

The woman sighed. No, but we are. You'll know she's pushing too hard if she passes out. If that happens, just pour some calories in her, and she'll be ready to terrorize the general populace again in no time at all."

Mary leaned over and swiped her pants out of the woman's hands. "I'll be just a minute, Stan."

Stan put a hand up. "Slow down. I have your ready bag. Those pants are beyond repair. And would you shower please? I can smell you from across the room."

A moment later, she yelled from the bathroom. "I want a cheeseburger, Stan!"

He looked at the nurse for guidance, but the woman just snorted. "And she would listen to either of us if we said no?"

He picked up the phone. "Hey, I need someone to pick up a cheeseburger. Make it medium rare, raw onions. You're going to have to bring it down to the emergency room…Do I know who you are? Hmm…Let me answer it like this: Do you know who I am?...Good! Oh, and she'll want a side of sliced jalapenos."

He got off and smiled crookedly at the nurse. "This day is really starting to look up."

…………………………………………….

They brought Marshall in the damn jumpsuit. His second day, and he was being shown the joys of work in the prison laundry when guards showed up and said there was an emergency hearing. Without really giving him the choice, they dragged him off to the courthouse in his prison garb.

Walking handcuffed between two deputies in a prison jumpsuit was humiliation on a scale that he'd never before experienced. He kept his eyes on the floor and struggled to control the raging building inside. They took off his handcuffs and deposited him in a room.

"Your new lawyer will be here in a minute. We're going to be standing right outside. We hear a single raised voice, and you're back in the bracelets."

"I don't have a new lawyer!"

"Calm down, Lawman. It's not worth all that drama. Just talk to the pretty lady."

The deputies let in Conchita Alvarez and Rosita.

Conchita waited until they closed the door behind them before turning to Marshall. "Let me introduce myself—"

Marshall shook his head angrily. "I didn't ask for this. You drag me out like this…for what! I made a deal!"

"We're breaking it."

He threw his hands up. "What?!"

"Rosita retained me as your counsel."

"Don't be mad, Marshall."

He looked at her and softened. "I'm not mad…at you. You don't have the money…I don't understand this."

"You don't worry about it. It's my chance to help you."

Marshall rubbed his face in his hands and turned his attention back to Conchita. "How do you break a deal?"

She smiled. "There isn't a deal out there that can't be massaged. Besides the onus of responsibility is on the state in this deal, not you. In a stunningly ill-advised move, you gave yourself up nice and neat without requesting anything in return. The state owes you nothing."

"What does this mean?"

"We have a hearing tomorrow. We're going to throw out the deal. Then we're going to challenge the District Attorney to make a new one."

"He'll make the same deal."

"You've met my aunt, the Honorable Judge Gomez. She'll be there."

Marshall sat back and blinked. "It will make a difference?"

"Wait 'til you see her in action."

He nodded. "I have."

Rosie leaned over. "I owe you everything."

"You're a good girl, Rosie."

She smiled.

Marshall reached out and grabbed her arm. "I'm probably not going to see you again…like this. You can't come visit where I'm…staying. I want you to know that you're worth so much more…Rosie, you gotta' stop what you're doing. Please don't be a toy anymore."

Rosie bit her lip.

"Honey, I don't want to hurt your feelings."

Conchita reached over and put an arm around Rosita. "He's right, Rosita. I'm glad he's saying this to you. I can tell he really cares. Do you understand?"

She nodded. Marshall reached for her. "How about a hug before you go?"

She held him tightly.

"Rosie," he said after a long moment. "Take my advice and pop the balloons. You have nothing to do with who you are."

She pulled away and smiled at him. "I'll think about it."

There was a knock on the door, and then Stan walked into the room. "It shouldn't be so hard to track you down."

Marshall froze. "You know what happened to her."

"Ladies, can you give us the room?"

Marshall closed his eyes and hung his head. "I need to know everything, Stan."

"Well, I don't think I should be the one to tell you." Then he closed the door softly behind him.

He looked up, his eyes red. "Why?"

She stood there, pale and marked with cuts and bruises: covering her mouth with her hand.

He smiled. "Why did I doubt you?"

She was around the table when he stood up, and he'd never been held so tightly in his life. For a moment, he couldn't tell which one of them was crying, and then realized it was both of them.

"Marshall, we've got to get you out of these clothes."

He grinned into her neck. "Finally, she propositions me, and I am a prisoner."

She slapped the back of his head and he howled. She jumped away. "Oh, my god, I'm such an idiot. Are you okay?"

He reached in and grabbed her face with both hands. "Yes, Mary, I am okay. For the first time in the longest week of my life, I am okay. I should have known that nobody kills my beautiful, exotic, wild animal."

She cocked her head. "You really think I'm beautiful?"

He threw back his head and laughed. "That's my girl."

She grinned madly.

He leaned in. "I know I can do this now. With you safe, I can survive all of this."

She held his hands in hers. "You're not doing anything. Stan talked to me. We're going to fight this. You're coming home, I promise you."

There was hard knocking on the door, and Marshall knew his time was over. He captured her again and swung her around. "You're the one, Mary. You're the only one I've ever really wanted."

His breath caught and he put her down. He pushed away. "Man, I must be high on life…I'll say just about anything."

"Marshall," she reached for him, but he was at the door.

"They don't wait very well. I better go." He disappeared out the door while she stood there, staring.

…………………………………..


	7. Chapter 7

Whew

Whew! That was fun. Thanks for taking the time. Thanks for supporting the story. I am conflicted about the ending. Let me know what you think. Sheila

Final Chapter

Marshall was amazed at how easy it had all been. Wearing civilian clothes, he stood up in court while Conchita Alvarez neatly vacated his deal; leaving the DA with no choice but to refile the charges.

Marshall expected to be taken back to prison, but he was whisked down the hall instead to a conference room. Inside, there was quite a party going on. Mary and Stan were there as well as Judge Gomez, and a couple of others, he couldn't put names to.

Mary hadn't been in the courtroom earlier, and he'd been relieved. He wasn't quite sure how he was going to finish what he'd started the day before. She smiled at him, and he winked back, but it was forced, and he suspected she knew it.

Introductions were made, and he met a weirdly pretty man named Burnside and another judge. Judge Gomez was the first to alleviate his confusion. "I suggested we have this meeting to help guide the ADA as he considers re-submitting charges in this case."

Burnside frowned. "I wasn't asking for any guidance."

She cocked her head. "And yet you would have benefited so very much from that guidance. I, and others, am tired of your heavy handed and reckless tactics. First, you allow an investigation to stay within the Dallas PD with the chief suspect still on the payroll. Then you come up with these draconian charges for Mr. Mann when the man who actually transported her over state lines get a slap on the wrist."

"You understand deals, your honor—"

The other judge interrupted him. "I'm in agreement with Isabel. We are coming down on the only person who showed concern for Ms. Torres' welfare. It makes no sense."

"He broke laws!"

"Actually, his primary infraction is federal and not really the business of this court."

"Am I going to be bullied into this?"

Isabel Gomez smiled. "If it works, we will,…and we'll enjoy it. Honestly, Burnside, you have enough on your plate with explaining how this didn't land in more appropriate hands until now."

For a moment, everyone braced for Burnside to really blow, but he didn't. He took a deep breath and smiled. "It won't be said that I am not a graceful loser."

Mary rolled her eyes and Marshall couldn't help but smile at her. Burnside got up, still looking like he'd just stepped out of an expensive men's magazine and left.

"Damn! That's what I'm talking about!"

Stan put on hand on Mary's arm. "Now, we have to address the federal piece of this."

Marshall sat back and waited. This was the part that mattered more than anything to him. His pride was wrapped up in his identity as a federal agent. As a felon, he would never be able to do law enforcement again, jail time or not.

"I stayed up half the night working out a deal on this. It's the best we're going to get."

Marshall threw up his hands. "Don't leave me hanging, Stan."

"You don't go to jail. You don't lose your job, but I am suspending you for a month: no pay. I don't want to argue about this."

Marshall slapped the table hard and narrowed his eyes at his boss. "You'll get no argument out of me, Stan."

"Good because the good fairy over here acted like the service should be throwing you a party."

Mary shrugged. "It seemed excessive. I think we could go back and sit down—"

"No! I take the deal. Smother her, Stan."

Mary laughed. "I figured that would wake you up."

Stan smiled. "I knew better that to let her anywhere near that negotiation."

Marshall swallowed. "So I am not serving any more time?"

"No."

"Okay," He stood up, his legs feeling a little unsteady. "I..uh, what's the procedure? I can just walk out of here?"

Conchita Alvarez smiled. "I walk you downstairs to Judge Ramos, and he signs your order of release. It won't take us more than half an hour."

Marshall nodded. "I want to thank…all of you have done so much."

Isabel Gomez nodded. "Marshall, we need more men like you in law enforcement. Rosita Torres and other young women like her need people who want to know her as a person. She wants to go back to school because you encouraged her. Rosita is going to stay with me for a while. I could use the company, she needs a place while the trial is in session, and she can finish school. It means a lot for me to see a young Hispanic woman who has been exploited; turn her life around, and choose a meaningful future."

"She always had it in her."

"But no one else was looking for it, Marshall. Thank you."

He nodded. "Tell her I'm going to keep in touch."

Conchita stood up. "Come on, Marshall. Let's get this done."

………………………………………..

With his freedom secured, Marshall went out to deal with the other crisis in his life. Mary jumped up from the bench where she was waiting. "I hear you got some old green junker. How about we leave it behind and got back to Albuquerque in style."

"Rusted Ford Probe style?"

"Is there anything better?"

He stopped. "You know, Mary, I don't think I'm going back to Albuquerque just yet."

She screwed up her face. "Rosie is fine. The Dallas office is all over it."

"No, it's not Rosie. I just need some time to think. I thought maybe I'd drive down to the coast somewhere."

"We don't have time for that. Stan wants me back on the job come Monday."

He shook his head. "Not both of us, Pumpkin. I think I'm going to do a little traveling all by myself."

"Why?"

"I have a lot crowding my head right now, and I have nothing pulling me back to Albuquerque right now. I got a month off, you know."

Mary frowned. "You should come back with me. I…we can hang out; I'll know you're doing okay. Jinx will make you brownies, and Squish can…stay as far away from you as possible."

"Sorry, Mary, but I just need a little time."

"Why?? Everything is good. It's all back to how it was."

"I almost got you killed."

She threw up her hands. "Well, I'm as good as new now."

"I gotta' do this."

Mary paced a few steps and then whirled around. "This is about yesterday, isn't it? You said things, but it doesn't matter. We'll just go back to how it was."

Marshall closed his eyes and sat down on the bench. "I got to figure it out for myself."

She kneeled in front of him, her hands on his knees. "It's okay. We'll forget it. It'll be fine."

"I still need some time."

She stood up. "I just got you back, Marshall."

He smiled. "I was gone for a week."

"Longest damn week of my life."

"It's going to be okay, Mary. I'll be home soon."

She bit her lip. "Please Marshall, don't overthink this. Don't complicate it. What we have…is as close to perfect as anything I've ever had. I don't want to lose you again."

Marshall stood up, shaking his head. "Pumpkin, you're not going to lose anyone."

"Please come home with me now."

He shook his head and reached for her, but she backed away. "Damn it, Marshall."

He winced as she trotted away from him down the hall.

……………………………………………

The day was hot, but it was tempered from the cool wind coming in from the gulf. He buried his toes deeper in the sand, his eyes focused on a trawler floating in the distance. He adjusted his straw cowboy hat and sighed deeply for the 3rd time in an hour. To his left, an older man paced back and forth in front of the surf. To his right, a woman sat on a towel, alternately speaking and crying to some unknown point on the horizon. Off to her right were a couple of young people who spent the better part of their time intricately entwined with one another.

The motel was rundown; its heyday had been back in the 50's before the big hotels had gone up a few miles to the east. Now only a few rooms filled even in the peak season. The flamingo pink had peeled off most of the clapboard, and the bar and grill had been reduced to a refrigerator full of Budweiser and a fry vat. Still, it was clean, and no one questioned him.

A look in his calendar told him that he had 10 more days before he was expected back in Albuquerque. He wasn't feeling ready to go back; on the other hand, he wasn't feeling unready. Each morning, he'd get up and take a run. Estella would fry him a couple of eggs, two pieces of bacon, and half a mango. Then he'd wander out to the beach and sit. By mid-day, all of them would have found their way onto the beach, and they would all retreat into their inner journeys; staring out on the water, walking, sitting, seeking shade; all waiting for something in their souls to right itself.

It was 21st day that she showed up. The pool he'd set up with Doug and Rhonda put the 21st between Rhonda's 18th day and Marshall's 24th day. Doug had put his money on her being a no show because he in the midst of his own life's despair.

Still she surprised him. He was expecting to show up in the evening, impatient and rude, but she came in the middle of the day, and sat down next to him in the sand. For the first

couple of minutes, neither said anything, and then he let a smile spread across his face. It was infectious, and he turned to see her grinning as well; the ocean breeze blowing her blonde hair about her face.

"I came for you."

"Tracked my credit card."

"Yup."

"I was going to come home."

"I couldn't wait that long." He let her envelope him in her strong, brown arms. He closed his eyes and leaned into her. After a few moments, she reached over and grabbed his hat off his head, pulling it onto her own.

"What have you been doing all this time?"

"Sitting."

She screwed up her face. "Really?"

"Yup. I highly recommend it."

"The place is kind of rundown."

He shrugged. "It's nice enough."

"So you just sit?"

"And watch the horizon and think. I run every morning, and at night I sit with Rhonda and Doug, and we drink Budweiser until the kitchen runs out."

"Who are Doug and Rhonda?"

He pointed at the woman on the blanket talking to the surf. "Rhonda comes here every year for about10 days, and talks to her son. He died five years ago in a plane crash, and she comes here to find him in the sky."

"Weird."

"She finds it cleansing." He pointed over to the man pacing. "Doug over there absconded with 300,000 a week ago from his brother-in-law's heating and air conditioning business and headed for Mexico. But he couldn't make himself cross the border. He spends his days summoning the courage to go home and face the consequences."

"Should we do something?"

"It's more meaningful if Doug makes the decision to return home himself."

"Does he know you're law enforcement?"

"Yeah, but I'm giving him space. He's going to get there. I have full confidence in him."

She gave him a strange look; then caught sight of the young couple lying together in the sand. "What's their story?"

"That's Jodi and Pearson. They've discovered that they love one another and have become addicted to it. They spend their days desperately clinging to the euphoria they have now. We make fun of them at night after they sneak off to make love. The truth is that they're perfectly nice, but we're a bit jealous, I guess."

"You've found a little family here."

"We're all a bit desperate right now. I think that's what binds us."

She took a deep breath. "I've thought a lot about you and I these last few weeks."

He looked up in surprise.

"I…uh want to try this. I want us to be together."

His eyes widened. "Damn! No one put any money on this outcome."

"I…want you back, and I think this is the right thing. I think we can do this."

"You sound a little like a volcano virgin on her last day."

"What!? I'm here. I'm sincere. Why are you making fun—"

He grabbed her around the waist and flipped her over. Form a moment, they wrestled, and then he had her pinned to the sand, breathing heavy. "I'm not making fun…Okay, so I am…a little."

"That was an interesting move."

"I'm improvising…and discovering that I'm find it quite satisfying to have you in this position."

"What now?"

In the distance, Rhonda gave him a thumbs up and he responded with a wink and a wave.

"Great! So all your little motel freaks get to watch you score."

He rolled off her and lay on his side looking at her. "There's no score, Pumpkin. We're not ready for the game."

She lay on a propped elbow and frowned at him. "What?!"

"We take it slow."

She moved in a flash, and before he could react, she was straddling him. "I…am so lost right now. You want me, right?"

He laughed. "Yeah, pretty much since the day I met you."

"And I'm giving myself to you…so what is the frickin' problem?"

"Mary, you're not ready for what I have to give."

"I'm a big girl, Marshall. What you got?"

He reached up and tucked her a lock of her hair behind an ear. "You're not ready for a man to stare into your eyes, and tell you he's never met anyone so exquisitely beautiful."

"I like it when you tell me I'm pretty."

He stroked her cheek. "I love to look at you. Every part of you seems exactly right to me."

She screwed up her nose. "Aww, come on, Marshall."

He shook his head. "Do you see, Pumpkin? You're just not ready."

"Don't make it so complicated!"

"I'm not ready either. I've had a rough month. I need a break from fear, and believe me when I say that having you in my bed would be a bit intimidating for me just now."

"I'm so confused right now." She climbed off him and sat down cross-legged in the sand.

He rolled back onto his side and reached for her hand. "We don't get to do casual. We've been through too much. We already feel too much. It's too much of a commitment right now for either one of us."

"What are we going to do, Marshall?"

He sat up next to her. "When I first got here, I thought you didn't love me and you never would. It took me a few days to realize that you might love me, but the fear that you would screw it up was holding you back."

She looked out at the water. "My relationships never last."

"You're so sure you'll screw it up."

"And then I would lose you." Her eyes started to water.

"But it's not just you, Sweetie. I'm also scared. I could push too hard, and then I would lose you."

"So we forgot about it like I wanted to do all along."

"Is that what you really want?"

Before she could respond, he had his hands on her face, and his lips were brushing hers. She moaned, and reached for him as to pull him in further, but he resisted. Softly, he explored her mouth, taking his time to savor her carefully. His touch was delicate, yet deliberate. Then he migrated to her neck, stopping to nuzzle her behind one ear. Before she could reciprocate, he pulled away and looked at her. "I'm going to be waiting for that moment when you're ready for a man who gives you this; a man who wants every part of you. That's the moment for you and me."

She searched his eyes. "What if that moment never comes for me?"

"Then I will grow old knowing that I didn't run when it got tough. I did what I could do, and that's all a man can ask for in life."

She reached for him, and he grabbed her wrist, but she was ready for this. She deflected his grasp, and caught his neck; pulling him down into the sand with her. "If this is going to happen, we both have to call the game." With that, she pulled him in for a kiss as big as the Grand Canyon.

"Mary!" He pulled away. "I had this all figured out."

She scrambled after him. "That was your problem. This is something we have to figure out, not just you."

"Okay," he lay flat on his back, succumbing to her advances, and looked up at her. "You win."

She smiled broadly. "We take it slow, Cowboy, but we're not going to overthink it. That little bit we just did where you nibbled on me? Well, I'm not waiting for some kind of perfect moment before I get some of that again. We throw out all that perfect moment zen shit you're so fond of, and just be honest with one another. You want honesty?"

He nodded.

She took a deep breath. "I do love you, and it's more than just a "Marshall's the brother I never had" kind of love. I am scared. I'm frightened of commitment, and I'm terrified of being hurt. So is everybody."

"You're not everybody."

"Yeah, but that's why you looooove me."

"Come here. Let me do that nibble thing again." She leaned over and closed her eyes while he quite artfully attended to her. After a few moments, she whispered into his neck. "So what's our plan for tonight?"

He leaned up on an elbow. "You see Doug over there. He stopped pacing a few minutes after you showed. I bet he's come to his decision. So tonight, we're having fresh grouper, and Estella's famous spaghetti. I'm leaving the green junker for Estella's son. Then we'll sit with Doug and Rhonda and drink Budweiser we run out. We should be there while he embarks on this new journey."

She stroked his cheek. "You're one of a kind. I'm a lucky girl."

"Does that mean we can drive home by way of the famous grave tour?"

She furrowed her brow. "What?"

He sat up. "I made a list of famous Texas graves I have always wanted to visit: Sam Houston, LBJ, Charlie Goodnight, Dan Blocker plus a few more. We can probably make two a day. How does that sound?"

Mary fell back into the sand. "God, I've been taken in by the biggest dork in the Southwest."

"Hey Pumpkin, if you come up to my room, the dork will show you his map…and possibly some other things."

She swung at him, but he feinted to the left, and took off running. She pulled off her shoes, and took off after him.

The End


End file.
